What'chu Talkin' 'Bout, Chris Martin?

I was going to write something about Coldplay’s single “Viva la Vida.” I was going to say that I love the almost orchestral feeling and the historical & religious references in a pop song (of all things!); that outside of the Beatles discography, it is the only song I don’t mind getting stuck in my head; and that this is the best Coldplay song since “Clocks.” Unfortunately, all of that has already been said (well, not so specifically with the third claim), so I wouldn’t be adding anything really new with that kind of stuff. So, in keeping with Reuters editor-in-chief David Schlesinger’s musing about the chain of knowledge, let’s add some value to this!

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Who the hell is Chris Martin singing about?

That’s what I thought the first time I listened closely to the song. My brother and I were driving back from vacation in southwestern Michigan, and we were listening to the album on the way. Unfortunately, my sleep schedule was still moving from London time to Indiana time, so I accidentally took my nap right when it was playing. I think I woke up once the next song started, so I just missed it. However, we both still wondered aloud who was the king/revolutionary/other historical figure he was talking about. I suggested John the Baptist because of the “head on a silver plate” part, but then I thought of Constantine. With his Edict of Milan and adoption of Christianity, and the “Roman cavalry,” and the prayer to “be my mirror, my sword and shield” echoing (in my mind) the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, I thought it had to be him. I also mentioned Alexander the Great (“missionaries (of a Hellenic kind) in a foreign field”), Jesus (see previous lyric & the Commissioning), and Julius Caesar, but Constantine remained stuck in my head…

...until I kept thinking about why I thought specifically of Caesar: “One minute I held the key / Next the walls were closed on me.” Constantine never really fell from grace, as far as I know, whereas Julius had to beware the ides of March because in a few people’s eyes, he had already fallen. (That is, if the characters from Shakespeare’s play are to be believed.) All that, added with the sweep to power implied in the crowd shouting, “The old king is dead! Long live the king!” made me question whether it was Constantine.

(Curiously, Napoleon never popped into my head. It’s funny the associations you do (John the Baptist) and don’t (Napoleon) make while simply listening to a song.)

This subject was brought up about a month later, and my friend Arec said that maybe it isn’t about some historical person. I thought, “Of course!” That sounded MUCH more likely. Maybe the song simply describes a universal feeling and cloaks it in historical references to get people to pay more attention. (It certainly grabbed MY attention. That, and the naked strings throughout.) But what is that feeling?

I’d almost liken it to bipolar behavior. You’re on a high, confident that you’re the best you could possibly be, so sure of yourself as you “roll the dice” and “feel the fear in [your] enemy’s eyes.” Then you realize that you only think that way because you’ve built yourself up mentally, or you’ve ignored what could stop you, or you’ve only been doing easy stuff so far. All the castles of awesomeness you’ve built were on “pillars of salt and pillars of sand.” Indeed, you might say there was “never an honest word” because your false confidence made you think you ruled the world. Suddenly, you feel walls closing in, people can’t believe what you’ve become, and you begin to refer to your domination in the past tense. You think that something other than work & inherent skill got you where you went, and you begin to call those self-told confidence-boosters “the wicked and wild wind” and blame them for the sorry state you’ve gotten yourself into. But as you “sweep the streets (you) used to own,” fixing everything you did wrong before, you realize that you indeed did have some skill, and with the right application of that skill, you could try to earn St. Peter’s attention again and get back to the place where you heard Jerusalem’s bells and your cavalry choirs. Then, when you ask yourself, “Who would ever want to be king?” you’d say, “Me!” And you’re on a high, confident that you’re the best you could possibly be, so sure of yourself as you “roll the dice”...

I would ALMOST liken it to acting bipolar. ::stuffs high school back into its box:: However, there are experiences much more well-known and universal than that: getting fired, getting dumped, resigning effective at noon tomorrow, obtaining false fame for fame’s sake and losing that fame.

The point is, the song is widely applicable and yet highly personal. The human journey from the top to the bottom is as old and as far-reaching as The Epic of Gilgamesh and the biblical story of the Flood. It would be almost perfect poetic justice if, once Coldplay becomes less popular and fades into the lore of epic bands of the past, they re-record “Viva la Vida” for their final album. I say “almost” because it would by no means be unique. (Then again, if poetry tries for the universal, then acknowledging that the band went through a universal experience would, indeed, be perfectly poetic.)

So, who the hell is Chris Martin singing about? In my reckoning, he’s singing about everyone. And everyTHING, too: ideas, philosophies, governments, and even species (if you want to bring the dinosaurs and/or climate change into this). Sometimes, a wicked wind brings in a powerful regime that eventually loses out; sometimes, an ideology that seemed popular for a while turns out to be built on shaky ground; sometimes, a person gets drunk off the thrill that came with feeling the enemy’s fear and forgets why he/she beat the enemy in the first place.

“Viva la Vida” is a powerful reminder that nothing lasts forever. (It’s also a clever oxymoron, given the title’s translation of, “Long Live Life.”) It’s always good to watch out for the fall from grace, whether you’re a government that wants to stay true to the people, a proponent of an idea with flaws, or simply someone who thinks he’s all that. Realizing that you can be brought down, and thereby staying true to reality, can paradoxically keep you up, because you’re not building your power on sand.